


Five times Nick & Harry woke up together

by Port_of_Morrow



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Pure Unadulterated Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Port_of_Morrow/pseuds/Port_of_Morrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This honestly is what it says on the tin. Five snapshots over the course of Nick and Harry's relationship, with a loose narrative running through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Nick & Harry woke up together

I.

Nick and Harry woke up the same way they went to bed: drunk. Except being drunk at 10am on a Sunday was a lot less fun that being in such a state the previous Saturday night. Nick quickly decided that the room was far too bright, and clambered out of his bed to draw the curtains. As he turned around and took in the sight of his bedroom, he groaned deeply. Yes; the empty bottles and cigarette stubs on his bedside table weren't ideal, but the main problem was the very beautiful and very naked popstar half covered with his duvet. The very beautiful and very naked popstar with whom Nick had very much gotten off last night.

Nick rubbed his hand over his forehead, quickly deciding that he felt much too warm, before heading into the en suite.

"He-ey," a groggy Manchester accent drawled from behind him, as Nick headed towards his bathroom.

"Hey, popstar" Nick gave a half smile, "Just getting some water,"

Harry just nodded, before reaching up and stretching his arms into an almighty yawn.

Nick returned moment later with two glasses of water and placed them down next to Harry. Said popstar was just smiling at Nick all wonkily, though his sleepy eyes.

Feeling a bit naked in just his t-shirt from last night, Nick headed over to his cupboard and pulled on a pair of boxers.

"Proper laddy, they are," Harry sniggered, and Nick just rolled his eyes at the boy, before heaving his aching body down opposite him on the bed.

Harry pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Morning," he started with, and Nick just laughed, "Morning yourself."

Everything hung in the air between them. Last night they were just mates, and Harry was just kind of bi, and Nick just thought he was a cute boyband popstar. But then Smirnoff, and then dancing, and then Nick's bedroom, and then kisses, and now this.

"Thanks for last night," Harry mumbled with a shy smile, taking a sip of his water.

" _Thanks for the handjob, Nick Grimshaw, it was stellar,_ " Nick mocked Harry's accent, because sarcasm came easy to him in these situations, and Harry just laughed his wonderful throaty laugh and smacked Nick in the shoulder.

"Come on," Harry blushed.

"Sorry," Nick fake-pouted, "I, yeah," he sighed, "Last night was nice. You…. it was lovely" he says sleepily. 

Harry exhaled deeply tapping his fingertips against the glass in his hands. Nick watched the expression on his face shift in the minute or so that passed. Harry looked a bit like he was trying to figure out some awful equation in his head, and Nick supposed that figuring out what to do after losing your (handjob) virginity with your decade-older best mate wasn’t too far off.

"I'm sorry," Nick said again, but in a wholly different tone to before. This sounded like an apology.

"It was lovely," Harry said quietly, leaning forward a little. "And don't, like, say sorry. I'm, like," he shuffled, "I'm happy that, like, you were my first, and stuff..."

Nick felt like his heart was being wrenched from him. He couldn't summon a single word. 

"Sorry, that sounded really gay," Harry chuckled. 

"What, the bit about me tugging you off?" Nick says dryly. What was that about sarcasm coming easily to him?

"Felt like more than that, Grimmy" Harry mumbles. 

And Christ, Nick thinks, because this is the bit where it becomes about more than the physical.

"It was," Nick breathes out, as his fingers find Harry's amongst the cottony folds. Nick swallows a lump in the back of his mouth. "It's always been, for me, Haz," 

"Same," Harry nods, his thumb brushing the side of Nick's hand.

Romantic, Nick thinks, confessing his love the same way he agrees with whatever pizza Nick's ordering.

 _"Same."_

And then, because words are heavy and sentences are difficult at this time in the morning, they kiss. And it's not too clear who initiates it, but Harry's lips taste of bourbon, and Nick's taste of gin and Baileys, and Nick's pushing locks of hair behind Harry's ears, and Harry's hands are stroking up Nick's sides, and they're getting so goddamn drunk off each other.

But unfortunately, the world doesn't work perfectly: in that it doesn't allow for Nick to lie in bed all morning cuddling and kissing his best mate. Which would actually really be ideal, at the moment.

And the two of them are promptly dragged from their reverie with a knock on the bedroom door.

"Nicky, I'm off, just wanted to say bye," Pixie's voice sounds from behind the door.

"Your door's not even shut," Harry laughs, noticing it's ajar, and Pixie could have very much just come in and seen, well, everything.

"Bye, Pix," Nick calls, before grimacing because that sounds totally cold. He clambers up from his bed, pushing his head through the gap in the door.

"Thanks for coming, love, nice party last night…. fun,” Nick strings some words together. He angles his body just right, to block the space between the door and the frame.

"Have you got a bloke in there?" Pixie asks, raising an eyebrow.

Nick laughs nervously, "Oh, er, yea-ah," he bites his lip.

Pixie just looks at Nick. She doesn't need to say anything right now. Nick thinks that there's about a ninety percent chance that Pixie knows very much which bloke he in fact has in there.

"It's complicated," Nick says in a more serious tone a few moments later.

"Hope you figure it all out, love," she sighs, leaving a kiss on Nick's cheek. And as Nick turns around and watches the gentle rise and fall of Harry's body under the bedclothes, he really hopes he will.

II.

At 5.45 on a Monday morning, Harry shoves Nick in the side for the third time.

"Wake up," he sighs, "You got work,"

Nick comes to, and hears the rain beating down on his balcony. He casts his sleepy gaze through the gap in the curtains and sees that it's tipping down outside. It's still dark and he can only imagine how awfully wet and grey and horrid it is outside.

And then Nick notices the warmth of the pillows and sheets around him, and the heat emanating from the tall, utterly lovely twenty-one year old at his side. The decision of where he'd rather be isn't particularly hard.

"Nope," Nick yawns, tucking an arm around Harry's waist and tugging him closer. He doesn't need to open his eyes to appreciate Harry's body. The soft hair smattered across his arms and legs, the roughness of his newer tattoos inked into his skin, the rough stubble across his cut-glass jawline, and then the moist warmth of his lower lip-

"Get the fuck out of bed," Harry laughs.

"Five...more...minutes," Nick breaths, raking his fingertips slowly across Harry's shoulder, feeling the boy's strong calves with the soles of his feet. He's in heaven. Waking up with Harry is heaven. Harry being his, is heaven.

"You said that twice already," Harry exhales in a stern voice, tracing his fingers affectionately over Nick's hip.

And when Nick makes noises of protest, whining about the rain outside, Harry says, "You've got like, three million people waiting for you to be at work in forty five minutes."

"I hate my job," Nick whines pathetically.

"No you don't," Harry says quietly, meeting Nick's gaze as the radio broadcaster finally manages to keep his eyes open.

"I do," Nick growls into his pillow, "I'll quit it and lie here and shag you all morning,"

"Doesn't sound very practical," Harry casts a look at Nick. "Now c'mon, tell me you don't hate your job,"

"Not exclusively," Nick concedes, "I'd hate _anything_ that keeps me from lying in bed with you all day," 

"And rightly so," Harry pulls a face, lazily catching Nick's lips in a slow kiss.

Nick interrupts the kiss to say, "Um, not that it matters, but, like it's actually more like _five point eight_ million, you know,"

Harry's throaty laugh fills the room.

"See? You love your stupid job but you won't have it anymore if you don't get the _fuck_ up,"

"Oh my God, _fi-ine_ ," Nick whines in mock agony, flamboyantly casting the sheets off his body before heading to his cupboard.

Realising he doesn't have a great deal of time to get to work, especially if he plans on eating before his three and a half hour stint, Nick quickly throws on sock and a pair of jeans and narrows down his shirt choices to two.

He flips them around to show Harry, "Babe, do I go with the Jack Wills," he waves a clarendon patchwork shirt, "Or the YSL?" He waves a striped red and white Oxford shirt.

"Jack Wills, looks proper manly," Harry yawns.

"You're so predictable," Nick laughs, "Do you, like, just not let anyone else wear YSL besides you?"

"Yeah, I'm actually suggesting a product recall so I just own every shirt and no one else in the world can own one,"

"Absolutely mad," Nick laughs, as he pulls on the Jack Wills shirt, slipping on a couple of necklaces, and sliding into a pair of grey canvas shoes.

"You look very handsome," Harry smiles sleepily, looking at the whole ensemble.

Nick feels his heart bash against the inside of his chest.

"Love you, see you later," Nick says, quickly stepping over to Harry's side of the bed to leave a kiss on the boy's lips.

"Maybe I'll tune in to your show later. God knows you could use the listening figures," Harry bites the edge of his mouth.

"Oh my god, I despise you," Nick wails, swinging the door open and throwing his bag over his shoulder.

"Love you too," Harry smiles stupidly at Nick, smitten and wholly gone for the man, as he leaves the room.

III.

When Nick wakes up in Harry's bed, it’s still dark outside. Which really shouldn’t be the case considering its Sunday: his holy day designated to sleeping until 11am. 

“Oh, didn’t want to wake you up,” Harry mumbles apologetically as he emerges from his en suite. He’s all dressed. Two suitcases and a carry-on by the door.

Nick groans when he checks the time on his phone: 3am.

“I guess my body’s, like, in sync with yours,” Nick forces a smile as he lazily sits up and stretches out his arms.

Nick flicks on the beside light so he can meet Harry’s eyes. They look sad, like they did last night when they calculated when the best times to chat would be when Harry's in the States, because of the time difference. 

After two months or so of Harry and Nick basically living out of eachother’s pockets, Harry would be on the other side of the Atlantic ocean. It seemed utterly unfair.

“I’ll come visit, like I promised,” Nick swallows.

“No,” Harry frowned, fiddling with the handle of his carry on uncomfortably. “I told you, I’m barely going to have two days free in a row… I’m not having you spend ten hours on a plane only to see me for five minutes. I’d feel awful.”

“Fuck that,” Nick sighs, “I… I wanna see you,” he balls up handfuls of the duvet in his fists, frustrated.

“Me too, ‘course,” Harry frowns, “But….I’d feel bad. Not get to spend any proper time with you. And you’d have to miss some of your shows,”

“Scott’ll cover them,” Nick rubs his forehead tiredly.

Harry strides over to Nick and holds his face in his hands, slowly kissing him.

"Maybe," Harry agrees. 

Nick kisses back. He desperately does not want this to end.

“Six weeks…. it’ll feel like forever,” Nick hums, and though he’d said to Pixie and Fifi that it wouldn’t be so bad, and that it’d be worse if they’d been together longer, he thinks quite the opposite. He and Harry are mad about each other, but he doesn’t know if their relationship is strong enough to last six weeks apart. 

What if three weeks into the tour they stop texting, become too busy, and Harry feels that Nick was just a distraction, something to keep him busy whilst he was off work for a bit? What if Harry gets reminded that he’s a globally-adored mega-famous popstar, who could do a great deal better than some aging goofy radio-presenter with a wrinkly face and a receding bloody hairline?

“Don’t forget about me,” Nick grits his teeth, faking a smile as he kisses the edge of Harry’s mouth.

Harry goes stock still.

“Do you need to get your bloody head checked?” Harry meets Nick’s eyes, “It’ll be a goddamn _wonder_ if I manage to go five minutes without thinking about your stupid face,” he kisses Nick’s tired lips, “And your other bits,”

“Seriously,” Nick sighs. He knows Harry probably has to go in a minute.

“I’m dead serious,” Harry’s smile fades, “I’m actually going to miss you a fucking tonne…And, like, I'll feel really dumb when you're out having a night out with your mates and I'm just lying in a hotel missing you... like I’m hoping work will distract me, but...like...dunno,” he shrugs. 

Nick doesn't know what to say. Whether he's out with his mates or staying in or out shopping or brushing his teeth he's going to be thinking of Harry.

“Anyway,” Harry sighs, shifting uncomfortably off topic, “I can’t find my fucking jacket, and the car’s gonna be outside in a sec,”

Nick climbs out of Harry’s ridiculous emperor size bed and fishes through the pool of his clothes from last night. 

“Take mine,” he gives a half smile, offering his oversized denim jacket to Harry.

Harry shrugs it on over his blue buttondown, and Nick can’t help but smile at how endearingly floppy it looks on him, overwhelming his slight frame.

“Thanks,” Harry musters, catching Nick’s lips in another kiss.

“I… I really gotta go,” he sighs a moment later, “Look, I may have some time off... _maybe_ … maybe you can come get your jacket back somewhere along the way,"

“I’d like that,” Nick exhales, pulling Harry up to him in a tight embrace.

Harry’s hair smells of cinammon shampoo and flowery undertones of the Palmolive soap that Nick keeps in Harry’s bathroom. He inhales, making a mental note to hang onto that scent.

“Miss you like mad,” Nick chokes, holding the younger man's body desperately against his.

“Same,” Harry holds him tightly, “Go back to bed. Sleep. Eat whatever food I have in the kitchen. Stay as long as you like.”

Nick just nods, as he parts from Harry. And then Harry’s through the door, closing it gently behind him.

From the bathroom window he watches Harry’s dark shape under the streetlight, climbing into a towncar, and then cruising off and away down the street.

Nick climbs back into Harry’s side of the bed, pulling the sheets, still warm from Harry’s skin, up around him, and soon falls back to sleep, trying not to think about how his the popstar won’t be next to him when he wakes up.

IV.

Harry wakes up first in New York. It's ten o' clock, and he couldn't care less. He pulls the sheets up around his shoulders and watches Nick for a minute. It's the best thing in the world.

His boyfriend came in just before midnight last night, and feeling totally jetlagged and awful from the grimy plane-food, had collapsed right into the billion-thread-count empire-sized bed in Harry's stupidly expensive hotel room.

Ten hours later, Nick's eyes open with an almighty yawn.

"What... fucking.... city am I in?" Nick slurs tiredly, pulling a pillow over his head.

"Doesn't matter," Harry pushes some sleep dust from the edge of his eye, "With me."

"Right answer," Nick hums from under the pillow, reaching out a hand to touch Harry's face. He likes feeling Harry in the dark. Harry quite prefers to see Nick's face, though. 

" _'I'm hun-gree,_ " Nick whines, and Harry deduces that his loaf of a boyfriend develops the maturity of about a four year old when he's jetlagged and hungry.

"You want room service then?" Harry says, resulting in Nick whipping the pillow from his face.

"They do room service breakfast? Like with croissants and that?" Nick gasps.

"Course! What kind of awful hotels have you been subjected to?" Harry laughs, leaning over and reaching for the room service menu and the phone.

Once Harry orders two breakfasts, with extra coffee for his pathetic boyfriend, he rolls under the duvet up to Nick.

"Hi," Harry kisses Nick's shoulder.

Nick kisses Harry's lips, "Hi," he smiles against them, "Sorry I wasn't much fun last night,"

"It's fine," Harry yawns, "You're no good at sex when you're exhausted, anyway,"

Nick huffs, "Oh so that's what we're doing now?" He raises an eyebrow, pulling Harry's body closer to him. Harry's already semi-hard against his leg, which he supposes kind of answers that question.

"Christ I've missed you," Nick totally concedes, pulling Harry's body on top of his, feeling acres of the boy's skin against his. Everything touching, together. Fucking finally.

And it doesn't take long until they're getting off. Thing is, they haven't seen eachother in three weeks, meaning it's just as lovely and stupidly romantic as it is sexy.

"Missed you," Harry breaths into Nick's ear as the older man pushes his cock between Harry's legs, his free hand pulling slowly at Harry's own erection. 

Nick's overcome with love, and lust, and everything in between.

"Me too, babe, so much," Nick breaths, as he meets Harry's bright grey eyes. And he knows it sounds stupid, but there's really nothing else to say. He's ridiculously, childishly, inexplicably happy with Harry. He inhales sharply, allowing the heat and the surge of energy Harry's giving him to, wash over him.

They kiss each other frenetically, rushed, hot and a but desperate, and - they have the excuse that they haven't seen each other in a few weeks - they soon both come quite embarrassingly quickly.

Harry sighs Nick's name into his neck as he comes down from his high.

Nick's just rakes his fingers through Harry's hair, over again, as he lets the energy dissipate from his body. This is what he wants, always, he thinks. Harry, him, beautiful cities, long mornings wrapped around them.

Nick's not sure how long they lie there, basking in eachother's heat, but it's long enough that when Harry reluctantly gets up to get room service, he and Nick are a bit trickily stuck together.

"Eugh, be a gentleman and get a flannel, yeah?" Nick grimaces as the mess on his body stiffens.

"Gotta clean myself up first," Harry dashes into the bathroom to rub a wet cloth over his legs - which Nick so generously soiled - before struggling into a pair of jeans an a t-shirt in an attempt to look half decent for the poor waiter. He throws a new wet flannel at Nick on his way to the door.

By the time Nick's cleaned up, Harry's back in the room with a goddamn trolley laden with every breakfast food Nick can think of.

Oh, and those jeans come right back off, and Harry's soon wedged between Nick's legs, pouring coffee and buttering croissants, feeding them to Nick in an obscenely domestic manner.

Once they've had their feed, Nick feels the effects of the caffeine racing through him. Harry's clearly ready to go again.

"C'mon," he licks his lips, and plates are moved to besides tables and hands are moved to hips and lips to necks. His goofy grey eyes are all over Nick's, and Nick doesn't think he's ever been more in love.

"Yeah, alright then, popstar."

V.

When Harry's back from tour, he slowly starts moving into Nick's flat. He says he prefers it - mostly because Nick is there long enough to make it all homey, what with his vintage vinyl records and whatever trendy adornment that Henry Holland's convinced him to buy. First come Harry's basic toiletries. Then come the clothes that evict Nick's bed sheets from a drawer and promptly occupy the space. When Harry brought over his bamboo dumpling steamer so he could make his vegan ultra-healthy kale concoctions, Nick decided that that was the final piece.

And of course living together isn't all peaches and cream. Harry and he bicker about stupid things like where to keep the TV remote and leaving clothes on the floor and cleaning the sink and that, and the popstar can't help but bemoan how Nick goes to bed at nine o' bloody clock in the evening.

His alarm wakes them both up at 5.35am on a Friday morning. Charming. Nick's got work as usual and Harry needs to get a train to the Midlands for a writing session, so it's an alright time for them both. They've left it a bit late, so their getting ready ends up rushed.

Harry isn't exactly coherent before 8am, especially when he's been out on a bender with Niall the night before, so they stand in silence next to each other, both shaving over Nick's small sink. They hurriedly dress, and decide to both get breakfast on their way.

Nick swings his satchel over his shoulder as he finishes his espresso in the kitchen.

"C'mere you," he chuckles at Harry as the younger man emerges from the hall, guitar slung over his shoulder, all rockstar-like, Nick thinks affectionately. 

"You got summat," Nick tuts, as he wipes a neglected patch of shaving foam from behind Harry's ear. 

"Ta," Harry yawns in response.

"All ready then?" Nick chirps, heading for the front door.

Harry flicks off the lights and grabs his jacket from the coat stand, stepping over to kiss Nick's lips.

And as he does so, Nick thinks that it's probably really easy to be in love when you're off in a foreign city somewhere. Or when you can laze about all morning with alcohol running through your veins, or when sheets are warm and it's cold out. That doesn't take much, and being in love when it's easy, well, he could do that with anyone.

But it's something else when you're living with someone, when you put up with their absurd decor suggestions and bicker over toothpaste brands and scream at them for leaving hair in the sink, and you still manage to wake up absolutely and godforsakenly in love with them. When the honeymoon stage fades to black, and you see their flaws and their annoying habits and their stupid kale dumplings and your heart still races around them, well, that's got to mean something more. This has to be real. 

"Yeah, babe," Harry blinks sleepily, following Nick out onto the busy London pavement, "I'm all ready."


End file.
